


Love Can Heal Too

by SunshineHead



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluffy Ending, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, peaceful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 01:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14989982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineHead/pseuds/SunshineHead
Summary: It had been months since the revolution had ended but not a lot of things had changed for androids. Connor doesn't have much to do but sit at home and wonder about his soulmate's Identity Mark engraved on his chest, over his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea androgyndroid on tumblr, galaxyskeleton on here. Go check out their blog!

     It had been three months since the demonstration. And after those months and months of peace talks between Markus and the president, things were still mostly at a standstill. The evacuation had been lifted on Detroit, and most androids had decided to keep their jobs that they had had before because they didn’t know what else they could do, after all, they had families to take care of too. Connor, he supposed was one of them. Although he wasn’t really a part of the DPD, he still helped Hank through his cases when the lieutenant made his way home from work. The two had also been at a standstill. After the hug in front of chicken feed, Hank had invited him home, and that’s where Connor had just stayed. It was Hank that had shown Connor that emotions were okay, even bad ones. Even ones that cause Connor to scream awake from where he was on the couch in stasis mode, haunted by images of a frozen zen garden, Amanda, a gun aimed at Markus back, and a blue stone that he could never quite reach in time. Hank was always there. He held Connor through the artificial tears than ran down his cheeks and helped him ease the ache in his chest. He knew Amanda couldn’t get to him anymore, but when he was in stasis mode, he couldn’t always quite control what his mind thought of. But Hank was always there. Hank was the only one that knew what Connor had almost done, he would reassure him that he didn’t kill Markus. He didn’t. He escaped. He lived.  
     He came home.  
     Some nights it wasn’t Amanda. It was the thoughts of Hank being shot by the machine that looked exactly like Connor. Hank always assumed it was Amanda each time he was brought out of stasis mode, panting roughly and all his sensors going crazy and flashing red with stability warnings. Only the sight of Hank, alive and breathing in front of him seemed to calm him. _That_ Connor had not won. _That_ Connor was shot dead by his partner. Hank, who was able to tell the difference between him and his look alike. And he still wondered _how_ that was possible. He wondered how his partner had known it was him. That machine was right, he could’ve said the exact same thing and it would’ve been Connor dead on the floor in the Cyberlife tower instead of him. But Hank had somehow known. And they both had lived.  
After Hank’s suspension for beating up Perkins to cause a distraction for Connor had been lifted, Hank had gone back to work and Connor stayed home. He fed and walked Sumo, he cleaned up Hank’s messes. He watched basketball, listened to Hank’s old jazz music, and decided that this too, like Knights of the Black Death, was full of energy. And on days when everything had been done, he wondered about the number that had been on the back of his hand since he was made.  
     It was common knowledge that everyone, including humans, had a sort of model number. Something unique and specific to them. Connor’s code was written on the back of his right hand, _RK800_ , of course matching his serial number on his Cyberlife issued jacket. They were called Identity Marks, for some it showed up on their leg, their back, maybe even on the bottom of their foot. But the code number of your soulmate, that was always on your heart. No one really knew how or why the marks showed up, or why it had appeared on androids too. Connor never really thought about the number engraved over his heart either until after he became deviant. Never really wondered what his soulmate would look like, smell like, taste like. These days, it was all he could think about. _OC116_. Connor had no idea if the number belonged to an android like him or a human. If they were an android, he wondered when they had awoken, if they had been a part of the revolution. If they had crossed each other’s paths and didn’t even glance at each other. That was common. Most times, two souls that were paired together got tired of looking and settled for someone else, some other lonely soul who had long ago given up too. The match would never be perfect though, it might be fulfilling, yes, but you never would feel as whole as you would with your other half.  
     “Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?” Connor asked one snowy day, as they watched the president give a press conference regarding the android situation.  
     “It’s Hank. I told you, you can call me Hank. And you can just ask the question. You don’t have to ask me if you ask it every single time.”  
     Connor nodded. “Do you ever think about your soulmate?”  
     Hank stiffened, pausing with glass to his lips, not having taken a drink yet. Connor guessed it might be too personal, and prepared himself to apologize and move on but Hank took a deep swig of his whiskey, wiped his lips, and spoke. “All the time.”  
     “Why do you think I have one? Why all androids have one when we weren’t considered to even be alive until just a few months ago.”  
     “I think you were always meant to be people. And whatever fucked up thing made these marks on our bodies knew that androids have hearts too.”  
     “Fucked up?” Connor questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.  
     “Yeah. It’s kind of sick. You spend your whole life with a constant reminder of the person that you could be with, the person that’s perfect for you. But there are too many barriers. Too many lines to cross. Or maybe you’ve already found someone that you think is perfect for you but then you see that fucking mark and it’s not your soulmate or whatever and then what do you do? You love this person but it will never be what you thought it was. Or even worse, you find this great person that you love. And they _are_ your soulmate. You can finally be happy. But what if they die. You _feel_ them die.” Hank’s voice cracked, which was something that almost never happened. Connor regretted asking the question when he saw the pain in his friend’s eyes, and he wondered what had caused that pain. “Maybe if we didn’t have this stupid number, even if that person was our soulmate we could at least hold onto the fact that it wasn’t guaranteed. That maybe there is someone out there to fill the hole in your chest, even if your true soulmate was already dead on the ground in front of you.” Hank sighed, downing another gulp of his drink, his voice almost bitter. “But with this fucking thing. It’s a near constant reminder of what you can never have, but you’re gonna spend your whole goddamn life searching for.”  
     “Was Cole’s mother...” Connor paused, seeing Hank’s shoulders tense at the mention of his deceased son. “Was she your soulmate?”  
     “No, she wasn’t,” Hank said, and Connor was relieved that he didn’t seem angry, or even at all agitated as he had once been on the Ambassador Bridge when Connor had brought his son up then. But they hadn’t been through what they had been through now. They weren’t really partners then. They were now, Connor could feel they were now. Connor saw something in his friend’s eyes, he thought it was sadness, nothing more. Connor turned his attention back to the screen, and absentmindedly rubbed Sumo’s head who had placed himself half on Connor’s lap, and half on Hank’s.  
But he still thought about the mark though. _OC116. OC116_. Who were they? Would they like Hank? Would they like Sumo? What would their smile be like? He hadn’t even noticed the time or the darkness in the sky, he had been so lost in his thoughts he only awoke from them when his stumbling partner crashed inside the house. Immediately Connor shot to his feet, going to steady his drunk friend. Connor had told him to stop drinking, though he really wasn’t quite sure what the feeling was, he told Hank, he knew that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if Connor lost him. That’s all it took for Hank, that admission and a look full of innocent sadness in his brown puppy eyes that caused Hank to cut down on the drinking. Cut down, not stop altogether. But that was good enough for Connor. Though there were some days were Gavin was too much and Fowler was on Hank’s ass that led to Hank stumbling through the door in a drunken state, just like tonight. And on those nights Connor would bring him to his bed, take off his shoes, and let him sleep it off and not nag him about it the next morning, which Hank seemed to appreciate.  
     But Connor still felt sadness, or at least what he thought was sadness, when he saw his partner’s red-rimmed eyes. He knew it was because of Cole, Hank’s son. Connor had told Hank many times that it wasn’t his fault that his son died, but he didn’t think Hank believed him all that much, even when he said thank you and ruffled Connor’s perfect brown hair. All Connor really wanted was to see Hank happy, because it hurt. Something in his artificial heart hurt when he saw Hank cry or when he saw him upset. The same as when it panged with joy whenever the blue-eyed man laughed, or looked at him fondly and smiled.  
Frigid February wind blew in from the still open front door as Connor guided his partner into his bedroom. He would shut the door when he could, he was too preoccupied trying to keep a grip on his friend. It shouldn’t have been that hard but the older man kept resisting and insisted he could walk by himself, even though Connor was quite sure he couldn’t. But that was the routine.  
Connor gently set Hank on the bed and couldn’t resist a smirk as he watched Hank try to stand and immediately fall back on the bed. “Fucking android,” Hank grumbled. But Connor took no mind, taking off Hank’s shoes. He knew by now that it was simply Hank showing affection in his own grumpy way.  
     Connor helped Hank shrug off his coat, and started to undo the buttons on Hank’s black and white striped shirt, a plain gray cotton shirt over his arm ready to take its place. Hank pushed away Connors hands as best he could but in this state, he was no match for Connor’s steady and strong hands. “Connor, stop. This is fine.”  
     “I think you’ll be much more comfortable in this. You won’t regret it tomorrow.”  
     “Then let me do it myself.”  
     “You can’t even stand up from the bed. Just let me, Lieutenant.”  
     “Connor, please.” He still struggles, doing his best to shrug off Connor’s hands. Connor could tell his partners heart rate had increased but Connor wasn’t sure why. It was probably just the alcohol that had caused this reaction in his friend.  
     “It’s alright, Hank. I’ve almost got the top buttons. Stop squirming.” Realizing that Connor wasn’t going to give up, he slumped in defeat, letting his hands fall to his sides. Connor smirked in triumph, but the smile quickly fell from his lips as he beheld the sight of familiar letters marked in bold letters on his chest, just over his heart  
    _RK800_


	2. Chapter 2

“Wh-What?” Connor didn’t understand. He checked his systems for any problems with his vision, for any reason that he could be seeing something that surely couldn’t be there. But there it was.  _ RK800 _ .

“Connor…” Hank said, his voice unusually soft. Connor met his eyes, and the blue eyes that Connor had come to know were filled with something he couldn’t quite define. And again, it was like his sensors were overloading. 

Where is it.” Connor demanded, something like anger or frustration coursing through him. 

Hank seemed to know what he was talking about. “On my neck. Under my hair.”

Connor leaned over and there it was, under the shaggy gray hair Hank’s number was written. 

_ OC116. _

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. Connor repeated those words in his head as he checked the back of his hand, then Hank’s neck, over and over again. They were….they were….  

And Hank had known. 

Hank had known and hadn’t told him. 

“Why?” He had meant for it to sound angry, he wanted to be angry. But the word only came out sounding breathless and light, lacking all conviction. 

Hank didn’t seem to be all that drunk anymore as if what Connor had revealed had sobered him up enough. “I knew from the moment I saw you. And you were such a fucking dick. You acted all cool sliding over money to the bartender like you saw it in some movie. But I knew when I saw your fucking number plastered on your jacket, and I tried to tell myself that it didn’t actually mean anything, it was just your model number. And if it did then it was some sick joke because you were an android. And androids didn’t feel. They didn’t love. At least you didn’t. Not then. But even though I knew, I denied it. I thought it couldn’t  _ possibly _ be you. I noticed it at the crime scene later that night. When you were licking that dead guy’s blood of all things. I told you not to touch any more evidence. You said ‘got it’ in an almost sarcastic tone, and as when you went to lick it, I noticed it. There, on the back of your hand, and I knew. I couldn’t really deny it then.

“But I still tried. Even as I tried to hate you and push you away. I fucking held a gun to your head cause I was drunk off my ass and in denial. And then you said you were scared of dying. And you said that if you died there would be nothing. And you seemed almost scared of that nothingness that I wanted to shoot myself instead. God, I had held my soulmate at gunpoint. But I still thought you were this machine that couldn’t feel anything. But then you didn’t shoot Chloe, you felt empathy, I knew you were different. When that other Connor brought me to Cyberlife tower and I saw you about to do something that you believed in, I almost wished you had sacrificed me so you could do just that. But you didn’t. And then I had the gun and for a second I didn’t know who was who. But I felt it, I felt it in the way you said Sumo’s name. And the softness in your eyes when you talked about Cole. And I felt it. Like a string tying us together, tugging us closer together. I knew it was you. I didn’t even try to deny myself after that, you were my soulmate.  

“I didn’t know what to do with that really. There was so much going on with the new revolution and you had those nightmares of Amanda and I didn’t want to bring you that stress of having someone like me as your soulmate. I just hoped you found someone that would make you happy, even if it wasn’t me.”

Connor wanted to scream. He wanted to tell Hank that he was a fucking dumbass. That Hank  _ did _ make him happy. But he couldn’t get the words out. Hank had known and didn’t tell him. Connor stood because at some point he had stumbled to the ground, and left. He walked straight through the still open door and left to the only other friendly place he knew. 

To Jericho.

Jericho was set up in Markus’ home. The house had been left to him by his father Carl, who had died a month after the revolution ended. It seemed that Carl didn’t care that androids couldn’t technically own property yet. The home was Markus’. And Markus had opened up his home to Jericho. It served as a meeting place since the old Jericho had sunk. 

Markus greeted him with a confused smile on his face and ushered Connor inside, Simon stood behind him, leaning against the banister. Simon and Markus had found out soon after the revolution that they were soulmates, and with them, at least, it made sense. The quiet blond seemed to be the only one to cool Markus’ nerves and the fire beneath his two-toned eyes. And Markus brought out the life in Simon, made Simon want to be something more than just a PL600. 

“I just needed somewhere else to be,” Connor explained quietly. 

“What about Hank?” Simon questioned, and just hearing Hank’s name made Connor’s heart shudder in a way it shouldn’t. Even though he hadn’t talked much to the leaders of Jericho, preferring to leave most of the work to Josh, Simon, North, and Markus, they still knew about his living situation. 

“Hank is my soulmate.” Connor breathed, barely about to say it out loud. 

Though the couple seemed shocked, Simon smiled, “That’s great. I’m happy for you two.”

“He knew though. He knew for months and didn’t tell me. And I still don’t understand. I don’t understand how...” Connor’s voice broke, and Simon stopped smiling as the artificial tears drifted down Connor’s cheeks.

“Love is hard,” Markus said, herding Connor into the living room and settling him onto the couch, an arm around his shoulder. “Love is difficult. It’s confusing, it’s painful, it can be quite horrible. Love can destroy you. But I think it’s all worth it when you think about what life would be like without the person that you love.” Markus met eyes with Simon, who had settled himself on the other side of Connor, and smiled. “But with your soulmate, I think that even if you had been destroyed by love, whether that be by a friend or a family member or a past lover, your soulmate will not care. Your soulmate might be broken too. And maybe your cracked and broken edges fit perfectly with theirs. It doesn’t make sense, how two people could fit so well together. But I don’t think soulmates are supposed to make perfect sense. Because love doesn’t really make sense. So it’s alright if you don’t understand.”

Simon finally spoke up then. “It might be hard to forgive him now, but I think with time things will work out for you, Connor. After everything you’ve been through, after everything you’ve both been through, you two deserve that love. I don’t know Hank all that well, but I think he might’ve just been scared. Love is scary. It doesn’t make what he did right, but love is also forgiveness.”

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” Markus said, rising from the couch, Simon right behind him. 

“Thank you,” Connor said, still a bit mesmerized by the couple’s words that had not really sunk in yet. They left Connor in the living room, and Connor reluctantly went into stasis mode. It turned out to be a very bad idea. He was haunted by images of the other Connor shooting Hank and all he could imagine was Hank’s body falling to the ground. And how Connor didn’t care about the mission then. Not anymore. Not as he held Hank in his arms as Hank had done for him. And as he imagined how the blood would leak from his partner’s mouth as he said goodbye. Because Hank couldn’t be repaired like Connor could. 

This time, when he shook away the images, there was no way to confirm that it wasn’t all real. That Hank was not dead. And Connor could not stand for that. So as the early morning sun rose over the horizon, Connor went home. 


	3. Chapter 3

Connor opened the door and expected to find Hank passed out in bed and was surprised to see him on the couch. Of course with a bottle in his hand. Connor rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to do this if Hank was drunk, though he wasn’t sure what  _ this  _ was. Hank looked up as he heard the front door shut behind Connor and Sumo padded down the hall to greet him. Connor eyed the older man, looking for trace amounts of alcohol on his lips but were surprised to find that there wasn’t any. Hank noticed him looking and said. “Just for comfort, I guess. Didn’t actually drink anything.”

Connor nodded. He still hadn’t left the doorway. He wasn’t sure what to do with his body, with his hands. He itched for his coin, but he’d left it on the coffee table, to get it he’d have to go past Hank, and right now he wasn’t quite sure how to move.  

Hank stood from the couch and cautiously approached Connor until they were few feet apart. If he wanted, Connor realized, he could take a few steps forward and be in Hank’s arms. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Hank's voice was unusually soft, and Connor wanted to say that it was alright, that they could move past this, but he wasn’t quite sure it was alright, and he couldn’t force any words out. “I don’t know. I guess some part of me thought that even if you knew, you wouldn’t want me anyways. So I was happy to just be your friend, your partner, whatever you needed, even though I wanted to spend my days holding you, kissing you, doing whatever with you, just loving you. I convinced myself that maybe if you just fell in love with me normally, and then hey what do you know-we’re soulmates, I somehow thought that you wouldn’t mind that I didn’t tell you sooner.” Connor seemed to stop breathing at the mention of the word love. Love. Did Hank love him? Did Connor even know how to love him back? “Of course I’m a fucking dumbass. I’m just sorry, okay, Connor? I wanted to tell you so many times. I wanted to when you saved me from falling off that roof while we were chasing that pigeon freak, Rupert. I wanted to tell you when you took that officer’s gun and stopped that deviant from massacring everyone in Stratford tower. I wanted to tell you after I shot that other Connor at Cyberlife tower. I wanted to tell you that day outside Chicken Feed. But I just couldn’t. I understand that I might be not what you pictured and if you don’t want me that’s alright. It happens, some soulmates deliberately choose not to be together. I don’t want to force you, Con, not if you don’t really want this. You’ve spent too long forced to do so many things, and you’re free now-“ Connor half listened to Hank ramble on, barely registering the words, but thought about what it would be like without Hank. 

He wouldn’t ever be in this house again. He would never pet Sumo again. He would probably live with Markus and Simon until he found somewhere to live on his own, but it would feel the same. It wouldn’t feel right. He wouldn’t ever have Hank’s arms around him again. He wouldn’t ever see Hank’s smile, or his laugh, and somehow all these thoughts were scarier than facing Amanda again. 

Hank rambled on, but Connor wasn’t really listening anymore, he took a few steps forwards, and Hank turned away, not wanting to face him. Connor lifted his hand to brush away the hair on Hank’s neck, and Hank choked on his words. There it was again.  _ OC116 _ . As if the image wasn’t burned in his mind already. Hank seemed to be holding his breath as Connor pulled away to lay his hand on Hank’s chest, over his heart. So the number marked on the back of his hand lined up perfectly with the matching number on the older man’s chest. It was strange, to feel the heart pounding beneath his palm but when Connor moved his gaze to look into Hank’s eyes, there it was, that expression he couldn’t quite define. He seemed scared, sure, but there was something else too. 

_ Love _ . Love, he realized, was in the blue of Hank’s eyes. Love that hurt, as Markus as said. Love was in Connor’s eyes, showing Hank that love also forgave, as Simon has said. But as Connor thought to all that Hank comforted him, all the times that he, in turn, had comforted Hank, he also thought that maybe love could heal too. He swore the heart under his palm skipped a beat as Connor brushed his lips against Hank’s, and then they were kissing. Connor knew that dozens of warnings were going off in his mind, red lights flashing in the corner of his vision, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not as the feeling of Hank’s lips against his brought this strange feeling into him, this warmth in his chest. He would have plenty of time to tease and scold Hank for not telling him sooner, he would have years to do that.  _ Years.  _ And Connor thought with joy that he would have years of this. Years of this feeling inside him. No, Connor thought, that would not be bad at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And thanks to northernskyhills for being my best bud and proofreading this


End file.
